


Wolf-Light

by daisygrl



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lilith does too, Mythology References, Slow Burn, Zelda Spellman Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-03-13 12:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18941251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisygrl/pseuds/daisygrl
Summary: "'Entre chien et loup', 'Between dog & wolf' - the time when the familiar becomes wild."Zelda works to build the Church of Lilith, wandering the wreckage of her old faith alongside a Queen with whom she shares more in common than previously thought.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> "The wilderness . . . does not locate itself, does not name itself." - Simon Schama, Landscape and Memory

Sharp shards of sky fell for weeks. Grey rain that poured relentlessly forth and wept into mud. Her bones splintered from walking. She stumbled around jagged outcroppings, watching the moon rise and then fall back below the horizon, looking for sprigs of aromatic green. Even a rodent would have sufficed. She pictured dragging her teeth along wiry fur and biting down into sinew, cracking brittle cartilage. Her long hair fell into her eyes, into her mouth, and she sheared it back in a frustrated fury. Hours, days, and she fell to her knees and howled until her lungs bled. No one heard, and no one came. She wiped her mouth and carried on. This was no wilderness; it was a wasteland. And so was she. 

She searched for the borderlands. It was there that vestiges of the Garden would have continued to thrive. The scaled and feathered creatures that had once wandered it alongside her had either fled there or perished. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, mixing with the ever-present dust that settled on her skin. It created soft rivulets; a tracery of grief. She remembered dragons that soared and swerved in the sweetness of the orchards, thickets where sun-baked grass and warm fruit had blossomed and thrived. She meditated on the syrupy first bite of an apple, the heady freedom of running through grass under an endless sky, and the sensation of bathing in the frigid waters that once carved gorges into the earth. They irrigated the meadows, which were sprinkled with a prismatic array of flowers and herbs. Bunches of honeysuckle climbed copses of young birch trees, nuzzling against the papery bark, and foxgloves swayed in the cool breezes that meandered through the valley. She remembered gathering armfuls of mushrooms, fleshy growths that stole a sweet earthiness from the soil in which they grew. Now, dust coated her tongue and her teeth, and she retched at the memory. 

What lay beyond, she didn't consider. The mere shadow of the far-away was an abyss where any distinction between emptiness and density was meaningless. The center of the vast wasteland she wandered, however, seemed only slightly better. The sparseness of the cracked earth was hideous. Extinct. Her expulsion from the Garden had been violent, but returning to a ruined unknown was worse. Every so often, she would discover abandoned shrines. No more than a few slabs of crumbling stone, they were mutilated by time and neglect. At night she dreamt of the flowering tree she had once slept in. Its soft blooms would rub against her cheeks and eyelids, and she fell asleep every night breathing in its strange perfume. She remembered stretching out among the clouds of pink, inhaling a sweetness she could taste in the back of her throat, her back twisting and scraping against the wood. Tonight, she had only memories to put her to sleep. She found a fissure between two rocks and lay down in between them, wrapping herself with her hair. She shivered. It was a warm night, but every so often, the wind would find areas of her exposed skin and bite at it. There were no longer any trees to keep it at bay, and it howled like a neglected animal as it blew past. Despite her strange surroundings, she saw that certain things had remained the same. She could still see swirling galaxies and nebulae in the night sky, and they sparkled and winked at her just as they had when she lay down to sleep in the Garden. The chirping of crickets in the distance gave her hope that perhaps there remained traces of life somewhere in the desiccated valley. She slept and dreamed of green.

 

The threat of prayer dangled loosely in her skull, a soft buzz that grew louder and longer as days and months melted into one another. Mortals, offspring of her old lover and the perfect woman who had taken her place at his side, were beginning to group together to form communities. Villages sprung up and dotted the valleys, and eventually they learned to harness fire and rain just as she had. Green began to sweep the land once more.  She continued to walk; it had been so long that it was all she knew. She even learned to enjoy her nomadic existence. Loneliness was a foreign concept, mostly because she was rarely, if ever, alone. Mortals needed her, and they were constantly offering up their thoughts and prayers. At times they came in the form of a hiss, and at others a sigh. Every so often, she would focus in on the melodic whispers that hummed continuously in the back of her mind. She began to be able to make out an emerging language, whose syllables and syntax were so different and yet so clearly drawn from the primal tongue that she had used in the Garden. Mostly, she listened to the prayers of young women, those who needed her help, those who were trapped in unhappy partnerships and who looked to her, rightfully, as an empathetic forerunner. The original woman, the original  _witch_ , who had been able to escape a loveless union with a controlling man. 

 

A woman reached for her one night, sending paroxysms of panic reverberating through her skull. The demon winced in pain at their intensity.  _I can't stay. I can't keep it. Free me. Please._ They came in short, choppy bursts. She gifted the woman her own blood, and the shrieking pleas finally subsided. They were replaced with accusations from her husband and the other men in the village. Rough and furious, they filled her mind and frothed in a maelstrom of violent censure.  _Child-stealer. She-demon. Night Owl._  She found herself unable to stand, shaky and shivering at the intensity of their hatred. She briefly questioned what she had done; was it possible that she had made a mistake? 

 

Her eyes grew hard and dusky, glittering like obsidian in their sockets. Never. As if answering the question she was terrified to voice aloud, a woman's voice rang out in the night.  _Freedom-giver_. And in the dark, Lilith smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

 

"Alright everybody, gather around. It's time." Zelda shook out her hair and wiped her hands on the apron that Hilda had given her to wear. Part of the Imbolc ritual involved baking, and Hilda had chosen an especially difficult recipe this year. She watched her sister work on the pastry all afternoon, kneading cinnamon buns into the forms of protective runes. They were infused with various health and longevity tonics, and after they had caused the first batch to fail to rise, Hilda had enlisted the help of everyone in the house. Zelda's sole source of comfort was Ambrose, who looked about as uncomfortable as her in his frilly, floral ensemble. The whole house smelled of cinnamon and sugary pastry. Cinder and incense smoke hung in the air, and the entire Spellman residence shone with the light of hundreds of candles. "Sabrina! Are you finished with the candles? It is of the utmost importance that every single one has been lit."

 

A flash of Sabrina's white curls appeared in the otherwise darkened doorway. "Almost, Auntie Zee. I've just got a couple left here in the hallway." Zelda huffed with impatience. The sooner the ritual was over, the sooner she could take off her apron and slip on one of her preferred outfits. Something in black. The only reason that any of them had agreed to wear the garments Hilda had so gleefully selected was because a proper Imbolc celebration called for bright colours. None of the strata of heavy velvet, jewel-toned brocade and black silk that resided in Zelda's closet ever came close to meeting those criteria. And so she would perform the ritual, as she did every year, wearing her sister's clothing.

 

Zelda watched as Sabrina struck a final match, twisting the candle expertly so as to light the wick in one try without burning herself. Teaching that one to use matches had been only too easy. It had been her job to light the ritual candles in the house since she was six years old. _If only_ , Zelda thought, _I had made the association with the old adage about playing with fire sooner._ She smiled slightly to herself. Though she and Sabrina had been at odds more often than usual in recent months, her heart melted when she thought about her headstrong girl and how much she reminded her of her sixteen-year-old self. 

After their last argument, Sabrina had been quiet toward her for a few weeks. Zelda knew better than to push it. She knew Sabrina would be feeling embarrassed about her outburst, about the things she had said that she likely didn't mean. Though Sabrina's words had stung deeply, and caused a deep blush to crawl up Zelda's neck and cheeks whenever she thought about them, she also knew that Sabrina needed her. Her own bruised ego didn't matter to her as much as making sure Sabrina was fine, going to school, and socializing with her friends in the wake of her heartbreak. The precarious state of their relationship was compounded by the fact that she had been in a horrific mood, due to make her way to Desmelda's after the holiday to drop off Leticia. She had been putting it off since the Solstice, but it was becoming impossible to hide the secret she had been so sure she could keep.The thought caused a lurch in her stomach, as if she were going to throw up right then and there. It was Saturday, and come Monday, the precious girl she had fallen so in love with would be gone. 

"Ready, my darling? Alright everyone, let's get in a circle, that's it." Hilda had evidently sensed a shift in Zelda's mood and taken charge of the proceedings. Zelda's throat suddenly felt tight. She was grateful that her sister somehow always seemed to know what she needed. And right now, she needed not to embarrass herself in front of her family by releasing the waterworks in the middle of their ritual. She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded, taking Sabrina's hand to her right and Ambrose's to her left. Outside, the wind was howling, and threads of snow lashed against the kitchen windows, creating a latticework of cold white between the mortuary and the grounds. It gave Zelda the impression of having been confined to a gargantuan snow globe. Inside, the flickering of the hundreds of candles created strange, flitting black shadows on the walls that moved and danced with a kind of daemonic energy. Standing together in the warmth of the kitchen, they began the incantation in unison.

 

_Benedicite est in domum suam_

_benedicite hanc focis_

_in flamma receperint_

_quia resurget a terra._

Upon the utterance of the last syllable, a warm wind swept through the kitchen, hanging in the air for a moment before disappearing. When Zelda opened her eyes, every candle in the house had been extinguished. This was her favourite part of the yearly celebration. Thick smoke tumbled out through the open window into the evening air. Outside, the storm had suddenly cleared, and the warm light of the setting sun painted the icy fields with streaks of pink, gold and orange. The temperature had risen by several degrees, and suddenly, Zelda wanted nothing more than to take Leticia and sit on the porch, taking in the last rays of the setting winter sun together. She excused herself with a quick smile, taking the bassinet and a thick, wool shawl for the two of them to share.

Once outside, she let herself grieve privately for a couple of moments. She didn't want Leticia's last days with her to be filled with morbidity, so she took her in her arms and spoke to her softly, telling her about the beautiful spring she was about to experience for the first time, and about all the wonderful things she would learn from her new guardian. When she was sure that the little girl was sleeping soundly, she took her inside, taking care not to make noise as she drifted up the stairs and into her room. She shut the door softly and sat on the edge of her bed, not knowing how to cope with the aching, gnawing sensation in the pit of her belly. 

She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there, staring into space, when a knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. "Aunt Zee? Can I come in?" Sabrina's soft voice echoed up and down the cavernous hallway.

Zelda sighed deeply. She wasn't sure if she was in the mood to deal with whatever her niece needed from her, whether it was about her Conjuring homework or some new monstrosity she had managed to set loose on the grounds. "I'm tired, Sabrina. Are you sure your aunt Hilda can't help you?" 

Sabrina opened the door and walked in as if she had been invited to do just that. She sat beside Zelda on the bed, and looked up at her with large, dark eyes. To Zelda's surprise, they were glistening with tears. Her heart skipped a beat, and she was suddenly nervous that something had gone terribly wrong. She also felt guilty for trying to pass her niece off onto Hilda. She knew she should be glad that Sabrina had chosen her to confide in, considering everything they had been through in recent months. "Sweetheart, is everything alright?"

Sabrina shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, a few stray tears streaming down her cheeks. "No," she whimpered. Zelda wrapped her in a hug before she could say anything else. "What is it? Did something happen at school? Is it about Harvey?" She brushed Sabrina's hair gently out of her face and waited, hoping against hope that is was just a mortal matter that could be quickly and easily resolved.

Sabrina breathed in heavily and looked down at her hands. "I'm just...sorry. I'm sorry for what I said during our fight. And I'm sorry for what's going on with Leticia. She would have been lucky to have you as a mom." 

Zelda was speechless for a moment, taken aback by her niece's display of sensitivity and affection. She hugged Sabrina tightly. "It's alright, sweetheart. I know. And thank you for saying that. I promise that everything will be fine, and so will I." She looked down at her niece and smiled. "Ok?" Sabrina sniffed and nodded, clearly assuaged somewhat by the warmth in Zelda's voice. "Ok. Thanks, aunt Zee." She wiped away her tears and stood. "See you in the morning." Zelda smiled and nodded, waiting for Sabrina to close the door behind her. 

As soon as Sabrina's footsteps had faded, she snapped her fingers to lock the door. Not even Hilda knew how to get around that particular spell, and the room would be inaccessible to her until Zelda returned. Perfect. She got up and paced the room for a while, listening to the faint chatter coming from the kitchen. The glowing warmth that had enveloped her during the last moments of the ritual had been replaced by an icy sting that wouldn't subside, no matter how insistently she willed it to do so. Her heart beat faster with every passing minute, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to catch her breath. She found herself itching for a cigarette, fingers furling and unfurling as if her hand had developed a mind of its own. Finally, she gave in and lit one, continuing to pace the creaking floorboards. If her sister happened to be paying attention to the pattern of her footsteps, she would almost certainly take Zelda aside later and ask about what had her so on edge. She stopped abruptly and sat down, not in the mood to answer questions. The familiar burn in her lungs and the rush of nicotine helped, but only slightly. Grey tendrils wound their way around her hands and seeped into her amber curls, and she inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. This wasn't going to work. There was only one thing she could do to assuage her sudden anxiety, and it was to prove to herself that  _he_  wasn't thinking about her or, Hell forbid, Leticia. 

She got up to collect the candles that were scattered haphazardly around her bedroom. She arranged them in a circle, and carefully lit each one, muttering a short protection spell as she did so. Satisfied with her handiwork, she lay down among the wax drippings, inhaled sharply, and closed her eyes. 

Black bled into the edges of her vision, and she tasted metal and rust at the back of her throat. Copper. Everything spun for several seconds before settling into an unnerving stillness. She squeezed her eyes shut for a few extra seconds before she could muster up the courage to open them. Just like she did every single time. Everything had gone well the last few times she had attempted this, but she was becoming increasingly paranoid. It was a precarious thing to combine an invisibility charm with astral projection, and the former did absolutely nothing to deter the psychopomps that would soon be gathering on the windowsill. If anything, she could swear it actually drew them to her, as if it were them she was trying to deceive. She hated the things; glorified budgies that possessed the power to wreak havoc on her immortal soul. It was ludicrous.

 

"-just think that something's not right. She was so sure that there were two."

Zelda held her breath, eyes wide. He was talking about her, of course. And the twins. She didn't dare make a sound. This was what she had secretly been expecting every time she astral-projected into Blackwood's office. Her heart was beating so loudly that she was sure he could hear it. If that were true, however, he gave no indication. Another voice, dark and honeyed, rang out in laughter. There was something cruel about it, as if its owner was taunting Blackwood with a kind of delicious, dramatic irony. Zelda peered carefully past the wooden post she was stationed behind.  _It can't be. What in Satan's name is going on here?_

Mary Wardwell sat opposite to Blackwood in one of his overstuffed armchairs, a picture of composed confidence. By contrast, the High Priest appeared nervous and testy, twitching ever so slightly under her scrutiny. The flames dancing in the fireplace lapped at her lovingly, sending smoky whispers through the dark mesh of her curls. 

"Faustus. Listen to yourself. Zelda Spellman is a talented midwife, but she is neither omniscient nor infallible. What possible reason could she have for lying to you?" 

Sweat dripped down Blackwood's forehead, and its oily sheen made Zelda's stomach churn. What reason, indeed? And why was Mary Wardwell spending the holidays with the High Priest? More importantly, why did she seem so intent on protecting Zelda's secret?

Blackwood licked his lips and considered her question for a moment before he replied. "She has always been unfailingly loyal to me. However, something in her eyes when she handed Judas to me seemed...off. Guarded."

Zelda head was pounding, her vision bleary. Even the rapidly-assembling psychopomps on the windowsill didn't seem to matter anymore. She had allowed herself to become far too vulnerable with someone whose powers of observation she had clearly underestimated. And now, her family was about to pay the price for her lapse in judgement.

As if sensing her presence, Mary turned her head ever so slightly to the right and smiled. "Zelda? Guarded? How utterly out of character. Except - " she cocked her head and raised her voice slightly - "that she happens to be one of the most unforthcoming people I have ever encountered. So no, Faustus. It doesn't surprise me in the slightest that she seemed  _guarded_  that day. You are being exceedingly paranoid, and you are wasting my time." Mary's voice seemed to saturate the air between them, vibrating with a strange, Delphian energy. Zelda could do nothing but watch, confused and frozen in dread.  _Who in Satan's name are you?_

At that point, one of the psychopomps let out a soft warble, and Zelda knew she had pushed dangerously, even foolishly, past the limits of prudent astral travel. The Dweller in the Abyss would have her soul in mere seconds. She closed her eyes, and again, the taste of copper flooded her throat as the world spun around her.

That night, Hilda slept peacefully in the bed beside her as Zelda's mind raced, her eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling. Tears flooded her vision, and she blinked them away in a frustrated fury. Was it possible that she had made a terrible mistake? Had she doomed the little girl who was sleeping soundly in the crib next to her? She tried desperately to slow her breathing as panic threatened to overwhelm her.

A slight breeze drifted through the window.  _Freedom-giver_. The voice, so quiet that Zelda would later swear it had been nothing but a figment of her imagination, wove itself purposefully into the shadowy corners of her mind. She closed her eyes and dreamed of honey, billowing in its serrated sweetness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kid from vine voice* look at all that self-projection! 
> 
> Also - I've been too chicken to properly write Zelda/Lilith up until now so here goes nothing, kiddos

_As High Priestess, I'll figure it out_. Zelda closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She had had no idea what to expect when she first uttered those words to Hilda, gazing upon the wreckage of their Church. There was no turning back; someone had to scramble out of the ashes and take responsibility for what had come to pass. Without a leader, the young, traumatized victims of Faustus' betrayal would be lost to a shoddily slapped-together Limbo; mentally and eventually, permanently. The electric white of Hellfire terrified mortals, but to witches, the flames were nothing more than gentle licks. Limbo was different. A shadow-grey realm of mists in which time didn't pass because it simply didn't matter. Hell was a certainty; Limbo was in-between, a place where the distinction between life and death, existence and oblivion, the self and everything surrounding it was utterly meaningless. She needed to provide them with an explanation, to convince them that who they were and what had happened weren't just colossal, universal blunders. And, terrifying as it was to admit, she needed to prove to herself that there was still something to believe in. 

She had never felt so alone.

With Satan trapped in Nicholas' body and Lilith sitting on the throne, Zelda had climbed into her bed the night of the masquerade and picked up her Satanic Bible, as had been her habit every night since she had learned how to read some four hundred years earlier. His hideous goat-form, to which she had once been ardently devoted, appeared to her in a sudden flash, and she cried out as if she had been burned. She threw the book that had guided her entire life onto the floor and cried. Her entire faith extinguished in a weak, sputtering cough. There were no more words to steer her in a certain direction, no sense of conviction that what she was doing was right. In the days after the masquerade she found herself questioning her every decision, lonely and anxious in a way she couldn't even name. 

 _I've been a fool_. Zelda cringed when she thought about the bloody traditions she had urged her family to participate in, the pride and satisfaction she had experienced knowing that the Dark Lord would be pleased. She had wasted her time and everyone else's trying to appease a predator. Every time she used her magic, she questioned where it came from, why she was able to continue using it in the same way that she always had. The entity she had spent her whole life recognizing as the source of her power had been reduced to less than nothing in mere seconds, and yet, day-to-day life continued as relatively normal.

The first weeks were difficult. Hilda tended to the wounded and took on the day-to-day operations at the mortuary. Every day Zelda watched as her sister woke at dawn to began preparing food and medication, grinding herbs for poultices and brewing tonics, filling the kitchen with the electric scent of lemon and thyme. There were endless bandages the needed changing, and dozens of hollow eyes that had glazed over Gehenna before being born anew in the ruins of the Academy.     

And then, there was the matter of Lilith.

Zelda began to pray tentatively, even skittishly. It was strange to think that she had both known and not known the deity she now worshipped. Their relationship was a lurid balancing act; Lilith was a red flame concealed by a smoke screen, and Zelda found herself drawn to her like a moth, willing to choke and die in an effort to get ever closer. 

Even if Satan was gone, Hell remained. And so she turned all her attention to its ruler; Hellfire incarnate, the demon-turned-Queen in all of her apotheosized glory. 

Zelda gleaned her library obsessively, eating rarely and smoking constantly. She spent weeks trying to patch together smatterings of Lilith's name across various ancient tomes. She came to recognize her every epithet - Screech Owl, She-Demon, Night Creature - turning them over and over again in her mind. She could taste them on her tongue when she found them, and cheered slightly when a cross-reference with a second text confirmed her hushed, preliminary inklings.

Several weeks into Ambrose's hunt, the crowds of traumatized witches that had occupied the mortuary had begun to dwindle. Most had returned to the Academy, well enough to begin restoring the building to its former glory. All were eager to resume classes, and Zelda had had no choice but to offer a syllabus of her own design. She sat in her usual place in front of the fire, intermittently annotating one of her final drafts and leafing through her books for relevant information. Her cigarette dangled from her unpainted lips as she fixated on her copy of  _Daemonologie._ She felt a thrill in her belly, a conviction that resonated deep in her bones. _I know there's something in here_. It was an original edition from 1597, and it had originally belonged to Edward. His loopy cursive appeared relatively neat alongside her cramped, spidery scrawl. A violent crackle and a shower of sparks startled her out of her meditation.  _What in Sa- Lilith's name?_ She looked around, uneasy, and took a sip of her whiskey before continuing with her research, pausing every few minutes to write small notes in the margins. Several hours passed this way. Every so often she would come across a connection that wasn't really a connection, a vague footnote or a reference to some other obscure text that could potentially provide her with the information she needed but would more likely than not turn out to be just another dead end. Her Latin had also suffered in recent centuries, supplanted by her study of at least a dozen other tongues, and she felt a pang of frustration every time she missed a word and had to look it up in the dictionary. Her eyes ached, dry and sore, and the whiskey made her head spin.

A soft knock on the door, again, interrupted her work. Zelda looked up, annoyed at having been disturbed twice in one night. "What is it?"

Hilda walked in, taking seemingly little notice of her sister's cramped, smoky office. Zelda felt suddenly self-conscious. Books were strewn about haphazardly, and dozens of glasses and half-finished cups of tea lined her bookshelves. The dusty, leather-bound volumes that had once been neatly and alphabetically organized lay around her in concentric rings, each bookmarked with whatever she could find around her in the moment; napkins, receipts, and smaller books.They lay on top of other volumes with which she had already finished but had failed to put back, forming hulking mounds. Ancient scrolls lay unfurled in disorganized heaps, and loose pages torn out of her and Edward's notebooks littered the floor, building up into beige strata that had all but engulfed her. She had even taken to sitting on the carpet when she had decided that her armchair would come in to better use as an additional book stand.

Hilda cleared her throat and smiled slightly, producing a plate of buttered toast. "Zelds? I brought you some dinner. Or breakfast, actually. It's about a quarter to five."

Zelda's eyes widened. "In the  _morning_?" 

Hilda nodded. "I'm afraid so. Wh -" she took note of her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and her voice softened slightly, "Oh, Zelda." She paused. "When did you last sleep? Don't you think this is a little..."

The older witch stared at her younger sister, daring her to finish her sentence.  _Obsessive? Neurotic?_

"...unhealthy? You've barely eaten. You haven't spoken to anyone, and you've been locked away here on your own for ages.  _Please_  go to bed. It'll make more sense after you've had some rest."

Zelda shook her head. "I can't. Not yet." The few times her research had yielded anything of use had only fed the Hellfire within her. These small victories justified the hundreds of hours she had spent scouring the otherwise arid wasteland that was her library. She couldn't give up. 

Her sister shook her head slightly and slipped out the door without answering, leaving the plate on a teetering pile of loose papers.

A beat of silence, and a white flame flickered in the fireplace, cutting through the heap of molten orange.

"She's right, you know."

Zelda nearly jumped out of her skin. The Queen of Hell was perched on the arm of her chair, sitting there as if Zelda had invited her in casually for a drink. She still looked like Mary Wardwell, but the glamour she was using so as not to alarm her High Priestess could barely contain her eldritch form. Her features flickered eerily in the firelight, mottled copper appearing every so often on the surface of her skin, intermittently permeated with something else, so dark and so ancient that Zelda didn't dare name it. She stared, dumbfounded, until she managed to choke out a single word, gasping as it escaped her lips. 

 

"Lilith?"

 

The Demon smiled, a slash of white in the gloom. "In the flesh."

 

Already on her knees, Zelda bowed immediately. She felt, as she had countless times before, something like an invisible hand pushing against her back, wanting nothing more than to demonstrate her loyalty and her unfailing servitude. She heard a flurry of movement above her, and warm hands gripped her upper arms, sending a shock reverberating up and down her spine. Zelda looked up to see Lilith's face suddenly flicker and change. She peered intently into black eyes, a wine-dark sea that frothed and churned, feeling as though she had plunged into eons of ancient pain and was now swimming clumsily inside her skull.

 

Lilith's voice was soft when she spoke. A whisper punctuated by a low growl, saturated with guilt. "Please...don't. Don't bow to me. I don't ever want you to."

 

Zelda blinked rapidly and looked away. Embarrassed by the onslaught of emotion, she discreetly tried to catch her breath. She suddenly felt far away from herself. _How long have I been in this room?_ The fire seemed to have sapped the oxygen she needed. She shook her head and continued to gulp for air. _Perhaps I should open a window?_ "I don't know what else to do." Almost immediately, Lilith's hands were on her own, rubbing small circles on her skin. "It's alright." 

 

Zelda glared at the Demon, light-headed and confused. Wasn't it obvious that she was under physical duress, that she was choking on absolutely nothing? Lilith continued to whisper things to her, constantly rubbing circles on her hands and on her wrists. Zelda finally managed to take a deep breath, almost whimpering with relief. When she finally managed to steady her breathing, Lilith rose, gripping her hand. "Come with me. I want to show you something."


End file.
